


Son of My Body

by hermitknut



Category: Fitz and the Fool Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Realm of the Elderlings - Robin Hobb
Genre: Gen, Stream of Consciousness, spoilers for fool's quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 15:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11717271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: After overhearing something in Fitz’s wildly spilling thoughts, Dutiful needs a moment to himself.





	Son of My Body

Dutiful forced himself not to run as he made his way back to the king’s chambers. Forced his steps even, his breathing steady, his expression neutral, his thoughts blank. He could still feel Fitz spilling over and walled him out as best he could. Staircase, then corridor, then door. Fill every gap in Skill walls, concentrate on that.

When he heard the door to his room shut behind him he stopped. He walled himself again, and checked every room physically for a lingering servant. None. Empty. He was alone.

Only then did he dare to let unfold in his mind the thought that had spilled over from Fitz’s  -when they had met eyes –

_Son of my body_.

The words weren’t much, easily dismissed as strange nonsense from a Skill-drenched man. But the feeling behind them… Fitz had for a moment thought of Dutiful as _his_. _Son of my body_. Barely a whisper, even in Fitz’s state. Dutiful breathed in and out through his nose, his mouth and eyes tightly shut. He was faintly aware of having sunk to his knees before the hearth. _Son of my body._ Fitz’s touch of thought had not been fleeting, exactly – more that he had brushed something dusty and ordinarily unacknowledged.

_Son of my body_.

The words thrummed through Dutiful’s head, each syllable like a fallen stone. _Son of my body_. Fitz had traced Dutiful’s features with his eyes, matching them to his own. _Son of my_ body. Dutiful did not see how it could be truth, and yet he knew that to Fitz it was. He had glimpsed his cousin as a boy in that matching, before the damage to his face, and known their similarity – but they were cousins, family, that was not so unusual, it didn’t have to mean anything. _Son of my body_.

But he was Verity’s son. Verity’s. He knew that. Wit from his mother, Skill from his father.

_Or both from a father_. The traitor thought was there before he could deny it. He opened his eyes, stared into the fire blindly. Not Verity’s child? How could that be possible? How could he have gone every day and not know, how… Fitz’s roiling, spilling emotions hadn’t been a denial of anything, rather a welcome. Like a hand reaching to rest on his shoulder. His cousin’s hand. A father’s hand. Truth and not truth, somehow. _Son of my body_.

Carefully, Dutiful contained himself, and then sent a tight Skill message to Amethyst. She was often in attendance with Lady Kettricken and would deliver his request to meet discreetly. He felt held in suspension, waiting for some kind of confirmation. Either way, his mother would be able to give him that. But he would have to wait for the time being. He reigned in his thoughts and, long-practiced, went back to his duties.


End file.
